


The Ponytail

by Zauzat



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-02
Updated: 2010-07-02
Packaged: 2017-10-12 12:03:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zauzat/pseuds/Zauzat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt: Star Trek Reboot, Uhura, the ponytail at the Awesome Ladies Ficathon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ponytail

  
Nyota Uhura loves her ponytail.

She knows that people judge her based on it. They think that it sums up her character and to some extent they are right. But she is proud of the things that it says about her.

She endured the teasing as a child about looking like the back end of a horse, but she never let it change her mind. There was a time as a teenager when she wished her hair was coarser, that it had the natural lift and bounce of curly or wiry hair. She despaired of it lying so smoothly over her scalp, like a seal newly emerged from water. But as she grew into adulthood, into competence and confidence, she learnt to like the simplicity of her hair.

People think that long hair is more work but they are wrong. In the time that it takes others to wash and blow-dry and gel, to curl and straighten and style, she has run a brush through it, clipped it up in a ponytail and long since moved on to more challenging objectives.

There is no despair when each new hairstyle bears little resemblance to the model, no discovery that the smart result from the hairdresser can't be re-created at home, no weeks of shapeless shagginess as the cut grows out, no hours of each day lost to styling. Nyota has things to do. Each day is too short already without wasting time primping hair.

She likes the order of it. When she is running or doing tai-chi she hates the feeling of sticky hair plastered to sweaty skin, hates stray strands catching in her mouth or eyes. She wants it all secured, out of the way. And when she is concentrating, whether listening to an alien language or working on a complex translation, again she wants it contained. She is astounded by people who peer at their monitors through the blur of a fringe, repelled by those who twist their hair as they work, or more horrifying yet chew on the split ends. Nyota doesn't have split ends.

She knows that people think she wears her hair like that because she can't be bothered to make more effort, and that is part of it, but only part. She has always chosen to make use of her intelligence rather than her looks. She wants to be respected for her ability. She wants to explore her potential to its full capacity. She has ambitions to fulfil.

Not that she is unaware of her appearance. She has come to understand that the stark hairstyle enhances the austere beauty of her face. And she is not above turning sharply on her heel when faced with the likes of Jim Kirk (at least before he became her Captain) and letting her ponytail snap dismissively across his field of vision.

People think her hair sums her up and they are right. She is proud to be old-fashioned, to be self-sufficient, to value her brains over her beauty. But what very few people know is that her hair sums her up when she lets it down too - when she stands half-naked in front of the mirror and lets her hair cascade down over her breasts and brush against her nipples or when she arches her spine and shivers as the ends prickle against the skin of her back.

She loves the glossy texture of her hair and her lover loves it too. Spock's hands are exquisitely sensitive and he can spend hours winding her hair through his fingers, rubbing the strands between his fingertips.

One of their favourite positions is for Nyota to sit astride him, whether straddling his thighs early on in the proceedings or riding him later. It lets her lean down to kiss him, her hair falling like a curtain around them, shutting the two of them into a warm, dark world which only they inhabit.

It lets her pull back and tease him, sweeping the silky strands across his chest, or tickling his nipples with the tips. Spock's skin is delightfully receptive and he is fascinated by different textures. Spock will always feel a shiver of arousal at the scent of the shampoo she had used before their first encounter.

The first time she wrapped her hair around his cock and let the strands slide across the engorged shaft, he nearly came on the spot. She's let him do it a few times too, come in her hair. It is not something they do often, both of them finding it somehow wickedly dirty, something to be saved for special occasions. And it does mean that she needs to wash her hair afterwards.

Spock's sensitivity as a touch telepath not only makes teasing his skin peculiarly satisfying, it also makes his touch in her hair just right. She loves having her hair tugged, loves feeling the prickle of tension run across her scalp, but she hates having it pulled hard. The distinction is too subtle for most human males to understand but Spock can meet her desire with one hand tangled in her hair, the other pressed against her skin, feeling with her and through her the perfect pressure.

Given his strength another of their favourite positions has him standing with her impaled on his cock, legs wrapped around his waist, while he holds up her up, one arm supporting her arched back, the other hand tangled deep in her hair. She loves his power and her vulnerability; she loves that hot hand in her hair, half controlling, half caressing.

And when they lie, at last, sweaty and exhausted on the bed, her hair fans around her in a debauched tangle that none of her colleagues would ever recognize. As they slowly catch their breath, Spock strokes gently through the strands, smoothing out the chaos, bringing order to the wild snarls. And he never pulls too hard, just lets the prickle shiver across her scalp. It is the most erotic adjunct to the afterglow that she has ever experienced. And in time he tames the silken strands, brings them back into a disciplined harmony.

He brushes it for her and clips it up once again. And she returns to her public self, immaculately professional, sleek and decorous, the prim and proper Communications Officer. But they both know that the wild tangle is no further away than the release of a single hair clip.

Oh yes, Nyota Uhura loves her ponytail.

\- THE END -


End file.
